Breaking Up with Jesus

About three years ago I made a conscious decision to end a rather long relationship.

I ended my relationship with Jesus.

It wasn't an easy thing to do. I remember the day it happened. I was in the shower, sobbing, feeling the weight of the world on top of me and asking what could I have possible done to deserve the things that I've experienced in my life. I wasn't perfect but I certainly wasn't terrible but I was alone and broken. I curled into a ball in the corner. This was rock bottom. I could not find justification for believing anymore. It wasn't for a lack of trying. I try to conjure up old idioms that I would always hear: "He won't put anymore on you than you can bear," "He may not come when you want him but he'll be on time,"

But I couldn't take it anymore and I needed help now and I wasn't getting it.

All I could think was how could these things happened to me, if God loved me?

I realized it was because he didn't love me at all and that the thought ran through me like a knife. When I walked out of the shower I resolved to walk away from Christianity.

It's not easy to step away from something that has been a major part of your life and remains a major part of your culture. I have relatives that are ordained in the church. This was no small decision but I simply could no longer reconcile my beliefs with what life had shown me. I am concerned that a number of my relatives will attempt to have a few words with me after reading this.

I found that a lot of my fear in speaking to my parents about what happened to me stemmed from the way sex was presented to me growing up. If you had sex before marriage you were a whore, I remember my mom telling me. Not her words, of course. It was God's. I was a ten year old whore. What kind of awful things would be waiting for me in hell? I was obsessed with sex. My mind was dirty. I was dirty. I couldn't talk about it because I knew that I had committed a grievous sin, especially since I didn't stop it.

The fear of God was a silencer. It kept my mouth closed. I fear it keeps many mouths closed.

In many ways, the church is inadequate in handling abuse. There's no good explanation for child abuse. You cannot rationalize it. You may be asked if you did anything to provoke it. You may be told, reassuringly, that everything happens for a reason and that God makes no mistakes. They'll tell you that you have to forgive your abuser. They'll offer prayers and suggest you do the same. There's little comfort in those words.

I spent a lot of time in the church praying for peace and the power to forgive and, for awhile, it helped but it was never enough. I found myself still firmly in the grip of depression. I felt unsatisfied. I was told that God loved me but I didn't feel loved. I felt abandoned. I reached a point of exhaustion. But as painful as that separation was, I felt a sense of relief when it was over with. I no longer felt the loss of self-esteem that came with constantly fearing letting down an all-powerful deity. Strangely, as I look back on it, I think this marked the moment when I really began the steps towards truly healing these old wounds.